I don’t confide with the sun

I wake up slowly in bleak

My agility has become vitiated

Side window, bed side window to accompany my queen size

Taut closed not an inch of light, shine of ecstasy to peak through and penetrate me

The mortal aches in my brown ashy, dried skin layered peanut of shape composed head

Contemplating about life and where I stand in my bed for a queen in size

The procrastination to get up, awake from the dead, carry my narcissistic paradox of animated, baleful love and hate for myself and the will to live

The severity of the extreme wretch agitation I feel on my waist, on the lower half of me

The rancor overpowering my thing feet

Semblance brown beauty, but really a repressing havoc

Ravaged destruction of pains aches it mocks

Guilt saunters me

I’ve learned to be falsely zealous to my mind betraying act of wince

Awe, no it’s not pretense

I don’t perfect my soothing, warm sheets lying lifeless on my bed for a queen in size

I like it that way it expresses me

A mess that drowns in misery

I almost died

For the sun I do not oblige to confide

Diluted into the darkness of my room filled of emotions in the enclosed cubic square atmosphere

For I’ve become accustomed to it

I assimilated myself into it

I like it that way it expresses me

Mournful darkness, dark, black heart of anguished sins

Gloom black, dark mournful soul of sinister integrity

The blackness in mourning darkness of my mind

Those thoughts of death that haunt me

I’ve tried and tried to demolish those thoughts, but I’m sick

I’m worn down

I just can’t do it anymore

I can’t despise them anymore

I have learned to reconcile with them

They’re of me

And that’s a fact not a false belief

With my aches and pains that took over me

I rise up slightly for myself to falter

Then with my weakness that rectifies to strength

I rise again

Hunched over back with ribs revealing themselves through my brown skin

I’m so healthy gaunt, thin of perpetual hurt

Stretching my once restrained arms of imperfection

With it comes a yarn from my distinct brown lips of softness

I wrapped my own affectionate warmth of self love heat around me

The agony I face means I can feel

I’m not numbed of temporary satisfaction

So I can feel

Through my African, Native eyes I’ve been exposed to neurotic encounters

It puts immense apprehension on me

So I can see

I can foresight truthfully

I can touched, I cannot be blinded

I can see, matter of fact I can see quite clear

I live and I have yet to die, but as of now in my room of solitude with my heart, soul, and mind

I’m alive